20 Ways To Trick People Into Thinking You’re Smart…

Frenchy: Hey, Marty, are those new glasses? Marty: Oh yeah, I just got them for school. Don't you think they make me look smarter? Rizzo: Nah, you can still see your face. down your bra?

Frenchy: Hey, Marty, are those new glasses?
Marty: Oh yeah, I just got them for school. Don’t you think they make me look smarter?
Rizzo: Nah, you can still see your face.

1.  Attend art galleries, and act deeply moved when you’re staring face to face with a giant painting of nothing but a big black dot.

2.  Say ‘palate’ whenever referring to your taste in food.

3.  Wear black framed, non-prescription ‘nerd’ glasses.

4.  Live in Brooklyn.

5.  Repeat ideas smart people have said in your presence and pretend that they’re your own.

6.  Use words like, actually, literally, honestly, and personally, at the start of most sentences.

7.  If you watch any reality television, You. Must. Not. Admit. This. EVER.

8.  Tell people your favorite television shows are Homeland, any HBO show (other than True Blood), Downton Abbey, or Breaking Bad.

9.  If you have nothing intelligent to contribute to Facebook, Twitter, etc., at the very least, use these correctly: there, they’re, their, your, you’re, we’re, were, then, than.

10.  Pretend you’re really up on politics, but only read the headlines.

11. Tell people your favorite movies are foreign films, and then name drop at least three titles.  Extra points if you pronounce them correctly.

12.  Hang out at any coffee shop except Starbucks, and preferably one that sells crappy coffee that costs twice as much as the chains.

13.  Shop at independent bookstores, and scour the historical fiction section (hopefully while wearing your black framed nerd glasses.)

14.  Tell people you studied abroad.

15.  Tell people you’ve read lots of books, and name-drop titles like The Importance of Being Earnest, Ulysses, A Tale of Two Cities, The Odyssey, The Old Man and the Sea, etc.

16.  Talk about Freud and drop at least one of his theories into conversation at a dinner party.

17.  Say you love every Woody Allen movie whenever given the chance.

18.  Use the word ‘juxtaposed’ in a sentence correctly.

19.  Use words like layered, texture, ripe, raw and supple when describing music.  Bonus points if you can use any of those words to describe Bon Iver’s music.

20.  When drinking red wine with friends, first refer to the taste as full-bodied and complex, then once you really have their attention, talk about how you love the hints of oak and cedar wood.

~The End.

Pictures courtesy of IMDB

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To Spill Or Not To Spill…

Do you ever get sick of yourself?  Like, when you’re talking, and suddenly you just want to scream, “Blah!  I don’t wanna talk about me anymore!  I’m over myself today!”  This happens to me a lot when I’m working at the salon, and mostly because I feel like so much of my day revolves around talking about my life.  I think other hair stylists will agree, when women are at the beauty salon they want to gossip, and let me tell you, I’ve heard some cray cray stuff in my time as a stylist.  What always surprises me, though, is how much clients want to know about me. Their questions range from personal to general, but I find that more often than not, I’m asked these questions: What brought you to New York? How long have you been married? How did you meet your husband?  What does your husband do?  Where do you live?  Do you want children?

Sometimes I feel like these ladies are looking at me all like:

You know you want to.

You know you want to.

I really don’t mind sharing things about my personal life, but sometimes it gets exhausting.  It can feel good to talk about myself and therapeutic to share stories, but there are other instances where divulging too much has made me feel overexposed.  I remember telling one client about the time Matt got really sick when we were living in Grenada and how scared I was.  An almost stranger knew about one of the most terrifying moments of my life, and I felt really weird about it afterward.

I think sharing personal anecdotes are one of the big ways women connect with each other (and human beings in general).  Women are emotional creatures, I get it, and I am very emotional, but I do find as I get older, I’m turning into more of a dude.  I don’t really like to have super long conversations on the phone anymore, I can’t stand gossip, and I’ve started to take things at face value more.  Maybe it’s because I live with a dude, maybe it’s because I’m content with where I am in my life, or maybe I simply spent my entire 20’s analyzing myself, and now at 30 I’m spent.  Either way, it’s safe to say I’m just not that into me anymore.  I mean, I love myself as I believe every confident person should, but I just don’t care to brag about how awesome my life is.

I guess I’m too busy living.

~The End.

Photo by Anne Taintor.

It’s Just How It Is (according to me)…

Everyone is dazzled by a French accent.  It’s just how it is.

Just ask Brigitte Bardot.

If you don’t believe me, just ask Brigitte Bardot.

You may find yourself appreciating things like stewed meat, beets, capers, meatloaf, fiber supplements, etc. after reaching the age of 30.  It’s just how it is.

If someone had told me 10 years ago that I would willfully eat a beet salad I would've said you'd gone cray cray.

If someone had told me 10 years ago that I would willfully eat a beet salad I would’ve said you’d gone cray cray.

Most people think they’re smarter, more talented, better looking, funnier, etc. than they actually are.  It’s just how it is.

Said most people.

Unfortunately said by most people.  If you disagree, you’re probably one of ‘em.  Sorry to break it to ya.

Cancer really, really sucks.  It’s just how it is.

Everyone already knows it.

Enough said.

One day you might realize that Hall and Oats is a highly underrated band that makes you want to bust a groove.  You might come to this conclusion at a wedding reception when the band is playing Rich Girl, or maybe it might occur to you while listening to the radio in your car, but it will most definitely not happen until after the age of at least 25.  It’s just how it is.

Hall and Oats

Love the handlebar mustache.

Listen here to:  Rich Girl

Mixed tapes are highly underrated.  It’s just how it is.

Screen shot 2013-03-30 at 6.13.41 PM

Charlie from Perks of Being a Wallflower would back me up on this (if he were a real, living human being.)

Taylor Swift dates too many dudes and writes too many songs about them.  It’s just how it is.

I'm not hating, though, Tay-Tay.  I still heart your music very much.

I’m not hating, though, Tay-Tay. I still heart your music very much.

Everyone has a mirror face and it’s awkward for everyone else witnessing it, except for the person making the mirror face.  It’s just how it is.

Kim K. is a perfect example.  Naturally.

Kim K. is naturally a perfect example.

Detroit (my hometown) is so much cooler than anyone gives it credit for.  It’s just how it is.

The D

Period.

Teenage drama is and will always be the worst kind of drama no matter how old you get.  It’s just how it is.

See what I mean?

See what I mean?

The accordion is an extremely annoying instrument that is not at all pleasing to the ear. It’s just how it is.

Sorry all you accordion lovers...

Sorry all you accordion lovers…

Everybody wants to rule the world.  It’s just how it is.

Right?  Right.

Right? Right.

Every girl born in the 80’s tried to form their own Babysitters Club when they were a tween.  It’s just it is (or was).

How it all began...

You know you all did it.

No one really knows who coined the term “catfish” or what it has to do with being a scumbag online.  It’s just how it is.

He's looking at you, Mante Teo.

He’s looking at you, Manti Te’o.

~The End

Photos by http://solo-vintage.tumblr.com/post/30864230906/hoodoothatvoodoo-brigitte-bardot-photo-by, http://tastefoodblog.com/2011/06/26/roasted-beets-with-feta-mint-and-pistachios/, http://awakeningcounseling.com/blog_01/hello-world/, http://www.discogs.com/viewimages?release=1790330, http://www.tumblr.com/tagged/one%20winter, http://www.hollyscoop.com/taylor-swift/complete-guide-taylor-swifts-boyfriends.html, http://weheartit.com/entry/35517184/via/joy_sandra#, http://detroitlives.org/2011/01/14/friday-photo-run-long-live-detroit/, http://i.imgur.com/s7aMEw8.png, http://media-cache-is0.pinimg.com/originals/47/12/22/471222d7b0bcd02fda31b5c90d5ca3e6.jpg, www.monsterpop.com.br

How Much is That Doggy in the Window?

This past weekend Matt and I made a trip out to Pennsylvania to visit a Shiba Inu dog breeder.  In Brooklyn there are tons of Shiba Inu’s walking around, and each time I see one, I squeal with delight at their cuteness.  They look like little foxes with their fluffy, flouncy hair.  Maybe my affinity for the breed dates back to one of my favorite middle grade books, Fantastic Mr. Fox by Roald Dahl, or maybe it’s simply because these pups are just so darn adorable!  Either way, all I know is that when I walked into the breeder’s home and four or five Shiba’s greeted me, I fell head over heels in love!

See what I mean?

See what I mean?  Cuuuuuuuuuuuute!

Now don’t get too excited, Matt and I aren’t the proud owners of one of these pups yet.  The breeders are very serious about their dogs and they won’t sell them to just anybody.  There is an interview process before you can take one of these guys home.  We’re keeping our fingers and toes crossed that we are chosen, and in the meantime, we’ll be mulling over puppy names.

How about you?  Do you have a dog?  If so, what’s the breed and what’s his/her name?

~The End

 

How To Find Out If You Still ‘Got It’…

The title of this post might be slightly misleading.  Don’t let it fool you.  This isn’t much of a how-to guide at all, but rather my own personal story.  I hope you find it funny…

It all started one random Tuesday morning.  I showered, ate breakfast, and dressed for work.  I put on my black skinny jeans, black high-top Converse sneakers, a crew neck cream-colored sweater, and rhinestone button earrings.  Once I was ready, I grabbed my Kindle, and rushed out the door to get to the subway.

After a few stops, I settled into a seat on the train and began to read.  Not long after, a group of high schooler’s, all of them clad in plaid uniforms, hopped on the train, and began to converse loudly.  I tried my best to read, but the kids’ voices were boisterous and distracting.  Soon the lady sitting next to me got up and moved, and in her place, a gangly, freckled-faced boy with wavy brown hair sat down.  He was no more than fifteen or sixteen tops.  I continued to read (The Perks of Being a Wallflower) and I felt as though he was reading over my shoulder (I really hate when people do that, by the way.)  I ignored it, but after some time he quietly uttered, “Hey,” under his breath.

At first I assumed he wasn’t talking to me, so I continued to read (I was at the part where Sam stands up in the car while listening to Landslide by Fleetwood Mac.)

“Hey,” he said again, this time louder.

I raised my eyebrows and looked at him.  “Hi,” I said.

“What are you reading?”

“The Perks of being a Wallflower.”  And with that, I went back to reading.  (By this time Charlie was talking about Aunt Helen.)

“What school do you go to?”

I took note of his penny loafers, navy blue stock, uniform pants, and tried not to laugh.  This kid thinks I’m in high school?  I asked myself.  Wait.  This kid thinks I’m in high school.  Awesome.  I thought.

“What school do you go to?” he asked again.  “Saint Ann’s?”

I considered letting it go on, but he was so sincere that I felt a little bad.  “No, I go to college actually…and I’m 29…almost 30…and married.”

“You are not.”

“Yes,” I insisted.  “I’m afraid I am.”

“No, you’re not.  C’mon what school do you go to?  I’m not gonna stalk you or anything.”

“I’m serious.”  I showed him my ring to prove it.  “See,” I said.  “I can show you my driver’s license, too, if you want.”

“No, that’s ok,” he said, convinced now.  He stood up, and flung his backpack over one shoulder.  “Nice meeting you…,” he mumbled.

A few minutes later it was time for me to get off the train.  As I walked to work, I couldn’t help but laugh.  I looked down at my Converse shoes, and realized that maybe I was dressed kind of young.  I mean, I am young, but not sixteen.  Still, it made me smile, and inspired me to promptly put a status update on Facebook.

In other news, my dad has edited my name in his phone-book to “Mrs. Robinson.”

And that my friends is the story of how I found out- I still got it.

~The End.

The Woes of Being a Short Person…

This past weekend I went to a concert with my very tall friend, Reagan.  We went to see Morrissey at Terminal 5 in NYC.  One of the reasons I was so excited about this concert was that it was a small venue and standing room only, which meant a great view and an opportunity to get close to the stage.  So, why is Reagan’s height significant to this story you ask?  It’s simple.  She could see and I could not, because well, I’m short.

Sure the music was great, and Morrissey can still sing like he did in the 80’s, but I might as well have been listening to him on my iPod, because I couldn’t see a thing.  Nada.  Not even a little bit.  You know what I think is funny?  (You short people will hopefully identify, and appreciate this) All of the tallest men in the whole damn joint were somehow strategically placed in front of me!  Why, Why, Why does that always happen?

Throughout the concert, I became accustomed to watching other people’s faces around me for their reactions, because I couldn’t see anything myself.  Occasionally the crowd would “Ooooh” or “Ahhhhh” and I just had to assume something really cool was happening.  The most exciting part of the concert was when Morrissey sang the lyrics, “Close your eyes and think of someone you physically admire,” in his Bri-ish accent and followed it up with ripping his shirt off like He-Man.  The only reason I know this happened was because my tall friend who could see, turned to me and squealed, “Oh my God, Sar, he just ripped his shirt off!  That was crazy!”  I had to judge by her reaction of shock, then laughter, and then glee that she was thoroughly entertained by his antics, and that it was the highlight of her experience.  However, I did not see any of it.

At one point I blindly held my camera up in the air, set the zoom mode all the way up, and took a pretty decent picture.  In fact, I didn’t realize how good it was until I got home and saw for myself.  Geez, the lengths short people have to go to, to see what’s going on!

Not bad, huh? What can I say, I make the best of my circumstances.

On a side note, I left with a cool souvenir.  I bought myself a t-shirt with Morrissey in a barber’s chair, getting that signature ‘do of his.  How fitting for my profession!  Although I didn’t buy one, they were also selling tote bags that said “Shoplifters of the World Unite.”  Ha!  I thought that was quite cheeky and clever (forgive me for the British slang, but I’m going with a theme here…)

If I learned anything from this experience it’s that next time I go to see one of my favorite artists live, I will invest in some really, really good seats or skip the “standing room only” shenanigans all together, because it was kind of the pits.

Can any of you short people out there identify with this?

~The End

Leo, You Just Don’t Do It For Me Anymore….And Other Ways I Realized I Was Growing Up.

I was like any typical fifteen year old growing up in the late 1990’s.  I was in love with Leonardo DiCaprio.  Swoon.  I mean, wasn’t he just so dreamy in Romeo and Juliet, and forget about Titanic, um…to die for!
My walls were lined with posters of Leo like this one.

Oh, Leo, “you kiss by the book.”

Just when every teenage girl thought they couldn’t love Leo anymore, Titanic came out.  The combination of Jack and Rose’s courtship, highlighted with the haunting score of violins playing in the background as they stood together at the front of the boat intertwining hands was almost too much for any young girls heart.

C’mon, who doesn’t remember this scene?  It was epic.

I mean, could Leo be anymore dreamy than he already was.  Why, yes, yes he could, and he did it so well, didn’t he?

Back then, Leo was my go-to celeb crush, and it stayed that way well into my twenties.  I remember catching Titanic on TBS or some other cable channel, and having to stop whatever I was doing to experience Jack and Rose’s love affair one more time (and probably for the thousandth time.)

Recently I flipped the television on to find Leo’s face as none other than Jack Dawson staring back at me.  I got excited when I discovered that the movie had just started.  Matt was at work, my homework was done, and I had nothing else on my agenda but watching Titanic.

Fifteen minutes went by and I couldn’t help but have the following thoughts:

“Geez, Leo’s a bit scrawny, eh?”

“He looks like he’s about sixteen.”

“This movie is kind of corny.”

I continued to watch and willed myself to enjoy it, but I found that I was distracted.  I was checking my email, texting Matt, and going on Facebook.  Could it be…Was I over Leo?

After an hour of Titanic, I couldn’t deny it anymore.  I was not only over Leo, but I couldn’t understand how I was ever into him to begin with.  He was skinny and feminine, his hair was greasy, and he seemed immature to me now.

This could only mean one thing:  I had grown out of Leo.

And Leo isn’t the only thing I’ve grown out of.  As I approach thirty, I’ve been noticing other things that I’m over…

Journaling:

I used to live for jotting down my feelings in notebooks.  I haven’t done it in years, but recently when we moved into our new apartment, I came across a journal from about seven years ago.  There was a quote scribbled on the cover, and as I read it, I couldn’t help but feel that it was indulgent, childish, and dramatic.  As I held it in my hand, I cringed so much that I wanted to burn it or throw it away.  I never did get rid of it and instead tucked it away into a drawer, but not without looking up who coined the awful quote first.  When I googled it, I found that it was none other than the bratty Avril Lavigne.  Figures. I don’t have any intention of starting another journal anytime soon; I guess I’m just kind of over it, and that’s what my blog is for now.  I can only hope that a few years from now I don’t look back on this thing and cringe….

PDA:

So, I’m not talking about a little hand holding.  Holding hands is totally fine by me.  Matt and I hold hands all the time.  What I am talking about are the groping teenagers on the subway, sitting on their boyfriends laps and making out, as his hand creeps up the back of her shirt.  Gross.  Something has happened to me over the last few years.  Public displays of affection make me uncomfortable.  It used to not bother me at all, but now…well, it makes me want to look away or scream, “Where is your mother when you’re behaving that way?”

Loud Music:

I used to listen to my music really, really loud.  However, now I can’t stand to have music blaring loud.  I can’t concentrate.  I can’t think.  It makes me want to rip my hair out.  I also don’t like shopping at places where they play music too loud, because get this, I can’t shop properly!  Recently I went into Abercrombie and Fitch and between the screaming music, extremely strong perfume that they spray all over everything, and the dim lighting, I didn’t last but thirty seconds.  There is proof that my distaste for the store has everything to do with my age, because I loved that store something terrible not even ten years ago.

Pork:

So, you’re probably going, “Pork?!!  Huh???”  But yeah…pork.  This is perhaps the biggest sign of me being a real grown up.  When I was younger I used to loathe pork chops.  Like, with a passion.  When my mom would make it for dinner, she would have to make me a hot dog because I refused to eat it.  In the last two years, I’ve noticed my tastes in food changing; a little gorgonzola here (which I used to hate) a little goat cheese there (which I used to think tasted like feet, but now love), but perhaps the most shocking change has been pork.  Sometimes when I’m eating it, I’m like, “Who am I?” I used to vow to never ever eat pork, but here I am, eating pork and developing the palate of, well, an older and more adult-ish person.

~The End

Pictures by IMDB